#safe coping

Thursday, November 3rd:

Arguing with my sick brain is like deflecting the temper tantrum of a child. Or I am the tantrum. My head spins and I can’t ( d o n ‘ t  w a n t  t o ) focus on anything.

Just leave me here to sleep forever.

Meds : I’ve been taking clonazepam with my quetiapine to sleep for 3 days in a row. I am too anxious.

The best way to stop the angst is to work on my stuff. Do what I plan and have to do.

October 18th, 2016:

- mask. acrylic paint. 2008 -

I’m not sure what to call it, but I’ve been struggling with this for some time now, and it’s the reason I will often postpone doing the stuff I want/have to do.

I will think of doing something, and immediatly think of all the steps necessary to accomplish it, and of all the things I can do once it is complete. It’s like my simple idea of starting to do a homework or read a book or play a game is never this simple thing alone. It is the first step to the rest of the day. Of the week. Of the month. Of my life.

It’s like I’m on a rocket and get send off so far away from my original idea. I see all the links between the events and what I could do. It makes my head spin around and I’m lost in all the possibilities. Sometimes the ideas are sounds. Most of the time they are sensations of moving and jumping from one concept to the next. Not even words, or concrete toughts. Just a feeling/sensation jumping to a feeling jumping to a feeling.

I feel dizzy when it happens. And I lose the idea I had started with.

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I’ve had doubts about continuing to post in this blog. I felt better lately. I thought I lied about being sick. I always fear I lie about it. But then I remember what my doctor said about personality disorder. That I have to take my meds. I hate that I’m functioning now “because” of the meds. And I’m glad/relieved that I function again.

I remember how the doctor did not explain sh*t. I was left seeking anwsers online, and I am not sure I found the right ones. I guess I should go see a doctor once more and ask for help.

I hate seeking professional help, because when I do I don’t feel helped at all. I feel judged. They tell me I am wrong. A disordered personnality. And then they don’t offer much.

I should have screamed at them. Maybe they would have understood. Took me seriously. I should not be seriously thinking this, but I am. 

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This post is way longer and disorganized that I intended to. I will probably post more in the coming weeks to keep track of my mood again. I feel it is very cyclical, but I never stop to fully note it. So I will for a while, and then go back to a professionnal for help.